The Actually Epic Adventures of Errorgone Lampshade Slayer
by Beezlemona
Summary: Re-writing the entire Inheritance Cycle, chapter by chapter, in a much more entertaining parody form
1. Prolouge: Lampshade of Fear

Prologue:

Lampshade of Fear

Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world.

A tall Lampshade lifted his head and sniffed the air. Yes, it certainly did smell pretty world-changing, though it didn't smell as good as him because he was wearing Old Spice.

He looked human except for his crimson eyes and lampshade-like hair. More importantly he smelled like a _real man._

He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct, they were here. Could it be a trap?

He looked around.

Nah. It seemed legit.

"Spread out;" he said icily "hide behind the trees and that. Stop whoever is coming…. Or _die._"

Around him shuffled twelve Urgals. They weren't really too keen on dying, so they hurried into the brush, grunting as they hid. All but one of them, who tripped over his shoelaces and landed heavily on the ground.

The Lampshade hissed in fury and vaporised him with his laser vision.

The now eleven Urgals hushed pretty quick-smart.

The Lampshade peered around a thick tree and looked up the trail. It was too dark for human eyes to be able to see, but for him the faint moonlight streaming between the trees was like the light of a 100W incandescent bulb.

He remained unnaturally quiet, a long pale sword in his long pale hand.

The Urgals however could not see as well as him, they groped around like a particularly creepy old guy in a dark room full of women, and fumbled with their weapons.

The monsters shivered in the cold night; one snapped a twig with his heavy boot.

"Oooop! Sorry, sir…" The Urgal grimaced sheepishly.

The Lampshade rolled his eyes. Why did he put up with these idiots? Their poor hygiene, intellect and fashion sense were frankly painful, especially to his superhuman senses and dapper vampiric style.

Never mind, he'd be rid of them soon, one way or another.

He forced back his impatience, as the minutes became hours.

Another gust of wind rushed through the forest. The smell was stronger this time. Excited, his thin lip lifted in a snarl of delight.

"Get ready," he whispered, his whole body shaking with excitement. It had taken so much pain, so many plots and auditions to get to this point. He couldn't screw it up now.

Eyes brightened under the Urgal's thick monobrows, and the creatures gripped their weapons tighter. Ahead of them, the Lampshade heard a clink as something hard struck loose stone. Faint smudges emerged from the darkness and advanced down the trail.

Three rainbow-coloured unicorns with riders pranced toward the ambush, their horns held high and proud, their coats shimmering in the moonlight like DVDs.

On the first unicorn was an elvan man with pointed ears and elegantly waxed eyebrows. His build was thin but strong, like skilfully sliced blue vein cheese. A powerful bow was slung on his back, though it was mostly for show seeing as he'd decided to bring his collection of elvan flutes instead of arrows. The elegant musical instruments clattered around in his quiver.

The last rider had the same attractively androgynous features as the other. He carried a long spear in his right hand and had an elvan battle ocarina at his belt.

Between these two rode a raven haired elven lady. She was all pretty and that, in an efly kind of way. She carried in her lap a pouch that she looked at every few seconds, as if to reassure herself it was still there.

They all trotted by the Lampshade's hiding place without suspicion.

The Lampshade was already savouring his victory when the wind decided to change direction and swept his manly aftershave fragrance right into the hyper-sensitive nostrils of the unicorns. The beast's nostril's flared and they tossed their heads. The rider's stiffened, eyes darting from side to side, then wheeled their mounts around and galloped away.

The lady's unicorn surged forward, leaving her guards far behind. The two elven men saw that they were going to die anyway, so they decided to hold them off for a bit.

The first rider, with inhuman speed, fletched a flute and fired it at the Lampshade. The flute shot through the air with a sweet D#, before burying itself up to the second finger hole into the tree behind the Lampshade's head with a loud thock.

The other rider quickly reached for his elegantly carved ocarina, put it to his lips and began playing a rousing elven battle song. He was only into the the eighth bar when his steed was struck by an Urgal arrow and fell to the ground

The first elven man continued desperately firing volleys of flutes but the Urgal's arrows soon soon finished him. His companion soon met a similar fate.

The elven lady glanced over her shoulder to check on them.

As she did this, the Lampshade jumped out from behind a tree and yelled "ĻÄŹÃVĚŚĺOŇ!"

A red bolt flashed from his eyes toward the elven lady, illuminating the trees with a bloody light. It struck her steed, and the unicorn toppled over with a high-pitched squeal, plunging into the ground chest-first. She lept off the animal with inhuman speed, and glanced back for her guards again, whose corpses currently bore a resemblance to pincushions.

The Urgals were going over to the two elves when the Lampshade screamed "After her! She is the one I want!"

The monsters grunted and galloped down the trail.

A cry tore from the elf's lips as she saw her inconvenienced companions. She took a step toward them, the cursed her enemies and bounded into the forest.

While the Urgals ploughed through the trees (in some cases literally _through_ the trees) the shade scuttled up a piece of granite that jutted above them. From his perch he could see all of the surrounding forest. He raised his eyelids and shouted his evil laser spell again, and a quarter-mile section of the forest exploded into flames. Glaring in an evil manner he incinerated section after section of the forest until a circle of flames enclosed the ambush site. He watched the local fauna scampering away with second degree burns, and he grinned because he was such a prick.

Suddenly, the Lampshade heard shouts and a high-pitched girly scream. Through the trees he saw that three of his Urgals had blundered into a patch of prickly shrubs.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? GET HER!"

The monsters sniffled for a moment, before obediently bounding off after the elf.

She fled toward the dramatically craggy chunk of granite faster than you can say BkqæҖǖйahm. The horned monsters lumbered out of the thicket and closed in, blocking her only escape routes. She whipped her hair back and forth as she tried to look for a way out. Finding none, she drew herself up to her full height (five feet) in a poncy regal fashion.

The shade grinned some more.

"Get her." He said after a long while, savouring her helplessness and his own incredible evil brilliance because it was practically part of the job description to do things like that.

The Urgals, some of them still crying, as quietly as they could, due to their prickle wounds, stepped forward.

She reached into the pouch she was carrying, and held out a large blue stone which was definitely not egg-like in any way.

"You want this, my friends?" She said quietly.

"Uh." Said one of the Urgals, glancing up at his master for help. "Uh. Yeah. Dat thing. Yeah we do."

"Well then, think quick!" She jerked her arm as if to throw it, and the Urgals bounded off in the direction of her feign throw like particularly dim-witted Labradors.

The elf-lady begun chanting as quickly as her tongue would allow.

The Lampshade screamed in fury, before diving off the rock and at the elf.

But he was too late.

A flash of emerald light illuminated the forest, and the stone vanished.

Then the Lampshade landed on top of her and punched her in the face with his laser-enhanced fist. She collapsed.

The Lampshade leapt up, howled in rage and ditched his sword at a particularly unfortunate Urgal who had only just caught on to the elves' trick. There was a loud _shlock_.

He killed the other Urgals instantly with his laser vision, before wrenching his sword free from the mangled corpse and strode toward the elf.

Prophecies of revenge, spoken in a wretched language that only he knew, and therefore completely useless, rolled from his tongue. He clenched his thin hands and glared at the moon. The moon stared blankly back.

"RAAHH!" He said, and threw a rock at it. The rock sailed off into the night sky.

He took a deep breath and counted to ten very slowly though his teeth. Then he made his way back to the unconscious elf. Her beauty, which would have enchanted any mortal man, or at least and straight mortal man who didn't mind elves, held no charm for him. He confirmed that the stone was gone, and then retrieved his horse, with some degree of difficulty, where he had stuffed it into a hollow tree to hide it. After duct-taping the elf onto the saddle, he mounted the horse and made his way out of the woods.

He quenched the fires in his path but left the rest to burn, resulting in several serious charges of arson.


	2. Chapter 1: Discovery and Badgers

**Discovery and Badgers**

Errorgone knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. The prints told him that this was the fifth time he'd been there in the past ten minutes, which was enough to surmise that he was awfully lost.

The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. Some ominous-looking mist blanketed the forest. Errorgone shivered.

He was fifteen, the same age, he noted haughtily, as the Author Himself, or at least the same age that the Author Himself had been at one point.

Messy eyebrows perched above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were all raggedy seeing as he couldn't afford proper ones, and quite a few of his garments were made of animal skins or potato sacks. A hunting knife he'd made out of twigs and wood (the only materials he could afford) was sheathed at his belt, and a battered postage tube protected his yew bow from the mist.

By this point he was lost deep in the Spine, a notorious mountain range that extended up and down the magical land of Ãĺāġäŷźįă. Weird things were said to happen around there. Like alien abductions and yetis. Errorgone was the only one dim-witted enough to go near the place, and certainly the only one stupid enough to get lost there.

He was originally tracking a rabbit, and his hunt had continued for several days until it turned out that it was not, in fact, a rabbit he was tracking, but a particularly grumpy badger which had tried to maul him to death. Errorgone had bravely slain the beast, and had eaten it for his dinner. He had also crafted a rather fetching if not smelly badger-skin hat.

He wasn't really sure what he was going to do now.

Well, he supposed he was going to have to keep hunting for a bit longer seeing as his family needed the food. That and the fact that he was extremely lost.

He shoved that thought aside for a moment and looked around for any conveniently placed deer for him to kill. There being none in the immediate vicinity, he set off in a random direction through the trees. To his delight, after a while spent crashing through the undergrowth, he found a herd of deer resting peacefully in a moonlit glen.

Errorgone licked his lips and, after carefully drawing his bow from the postage tube, stealthily fletched an arrow. He took a last, steadying breath and—an explosion shattered the night, complete with multicoloured smoke, glitter and party steamers.

The herd bolted. Errorgone squealed in shock and accidently fired the arrow. It missed his target by several hundred meters and hissed into the darkness.

"Poo." He said.

Where the deer had been smoldered a large circle of burnt stuff. In the center of the blast radius lay a polished blue stone which definitely bore no resemblance to a dragon egg whatsoever. It smoked cheerily.

Errorgone stood frozen for a minute, carefully watching it in case it a) exploded again or b) turned out to be a yeti. After none of these things happened he cautiously stepped forward. He poked it with an arrow, and jumped back. Nothing happened again. He picked it up. It was smooth and blue and shiny and about a foot long. He decided it was quite pretty and therefore would be able to be sold for at least enough money to buy a nice sheep's head for a family tucked it into his pack, adjusted his hat, and sauntered vaguely off into the night.


	3. Chapter 2: Blacksmiths and Meat Cleavers

**Blacksmiths and Meat Cleavers**

The sun rose the next morning with accompanied by a pretty golden-syrupy sunrise.

After breakfast of his favourite Cruchie Bitez® _Breakfast For Champs!_™, Errorgone finally managed to wander his way out of the brooding mountain range and back towards his home village Carnival late that evening seeing as the author was lazy and couldn't be bothered writing the bit about Palancar Valley.

Carnival's lights shimmered in the twilight.

Errorgone wove his way down the hill towards the village. He made his way to the butcher's shop, a broad, thick beamed building.

Drawing the stone out of his pack, he shouldered open the door and went in. The shop door bell rang.

The entire room was kept clean and quiet. Obsessive-compulsively so.

Behind the counter stood Sloan. A small man, he wore a cotton shirt and a long smock, stained with the blood of meat and also very possibly that of anyone who looked, or even thought about looking, at his beloved daughter Katrina in an even mildly dodgy way.

He was polishing the counter furiously, and had probably been doing so for most of the afternoon. By this point you could nearly see a reflection in it.

Sloan's face twisted itself into a pretzel of disgust as Errorgone entered.

"Wot d'you want?"

"Meat," was Errorgone's cool reply as he leaned on the counter with his elbow in a way he thought was suave. He had never liked Sloan.

"Amazin." Said Sloan affectedly. "Now, then let's see ya money. Come on, eifer you got it or ye don't."

"Um" Said Errorgone, his debonair expression dissolving like a severed finger in concentrated hydrochloric acid, "Well. You see, I didn't exactly have _money_ so to speak, but—"

"Werl den, mate, I'm fraid ye better get out then. Wot yew think I look like, a charity bloody shop? I don't think so mate. Piss off."

"Nonoo, wait lemme finish."

Sloan sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically.

"I…" Errorgone set the stone down on the counter with a flourish. "Have a shiny thing."

Sloan's eyes brightened, but he reserved himself. "Nice lookin' rock."

"Will it be enough?"

Sloan poked the stone cautiously with the tip of a meat cleaver. "Hm. Well I'll give ya three bucks for it."

"WHAT!?" Errorgone exploded "Three miserly dollars? No way, I'll bet it's worth at least fifty bajillian times that much. I mean, look at it. Look how shiny and nice and un-dragon-egg-like it is!"

"Werl, if yew don't like my offer, yew can get stuffed and keep eatin' them sticks and rocks or wotever it is that yew bastards eat."

Errorgone bit his lip. It seemed a shame, but he _was_ awfully hungry, and he _did_ need the food.

Sloan smiled meanly at him.

Errorgone cracked first. "Arrghhhh well okay then fine."

"Great. I'll get ye a nice sheep's head fer dinner. Not that it matters, but where'd ye happen to find this?"

"Oh, two nights ago, in the Spine—"Errorgone's sharp reflexes enabled him to narrowly avoid a well-aimed meat cleaver to the face. The blade spun across the room and buried itself in the wall, quivering.

"GET OUT!" roared Sloan, flinging the stone off the counter with a vicious backhand. Errorgone managed to catch it and ducked behind the counter to avoid the ensuing volley of knives and swear-words. He probably wouldn't have made it out alive were it not for the door suddenly slamming open. The bell tinkled merrily.

Sloan froze, half way through throwing a large meat tenderizer.

It was Horst.

Horst was the local blacksmith; an incredibly burly man with an equally incredible beard. With him was Katrina, Sloan's beloved daughter.

Horst stomped inside, cracking his knuckles, producing a sound like a bad of walnuts being trampled by several Clydesdales.

"Quiet," he rumbled. "Sloan, what have you done now?"

"I ain't done nuffin," Sloan gave Errorgone a murderous glare, and Errorgone returned a childish pout. "Dis… _boy _here came in and started trying to convert me to some freaky religion. I asked him, I ASKED him, very nicely to leave and then what did 'e do? 'e tried to bash me over me head with a crucifix, dat's what he did! These knives were only in self defence."

"Is that true?" Horst raised an eyebrow.

"NOOO!" Cried Errorgone, still cowering under the counter and nursing the stone in an almost maternal fashion "All I did was try and exchange this pretty stone thingy for some food. When I told him I'd found it in the Sp—"

"DON'T." Horst warned, cutting him off quickly. Sloan looked as if several of the arteries in his face were going to explode; and he'd been partway though raising another knife. The smith put a huge hand on Sloan's shoulder and gently prised the knife away from him. "You mustn't mention the S-word around Sloan. You remember the Incident, don't you?"

"Um." Errorgone thought about it. "No. Can't say I do. But what difference does it make? I mean, look at this thing! It's pretty!"

Horst looked at the stone curiously, before turning to the butcher. "Why won't you trade with him, Sloan? I mean, look at this thing. It's bloody beautiful, and looks in no way to be a dangerous or life-changing artefact from the time of the Riders. I've no love of…. That certain geographical formation myself, but if it's a question of what this rock's worth, I'll back it with my own money.""

The statement hung in the air for a moment, then Sloan re-adjusted his scowl and said "This is my own shop. I can bloody well do what I want."

It was then that Katrina stepped out from behind Horst. She smiled a little and tossed her beautiful silky dandruff-free auburn hair.

"Father," she said angelically, the smell of designer hair products (because she was Worth It™) wafting through the room, "Errorgone is willing to pay. Give him the meat, and then you can go have supper and I can go do my nails and everyone will be happy."

Sloan's eyes narrowed even further, Errorgone was starting to wonder if Sloan had some kind of horrifically debilitating facial paralysis that physically prevented him from actually removing his scowl of disgust. "Go back to the house, Katrina, this is none of yer business. GO. NAOW."

Katrina's face hardened, then she marched out of the room, with another obligatory swish of her amazing hair.

Horst sighed, and then said. "Fine, Sloan. You can deal with me." He turned to Errorgone "What were you going to get?"

"As much as I could…" Errorgone said.

"Right!" Horst said, slamming a fistful of coins down onto the counter. "I want one of your best sheep's heads!"

The butcher did not stop scowling (By this point Errorgone was half way through personally diagnosing the butcher with Bell's palsy).

"Not selling to me would be a VERY BAD IDEA." He tilted his head to one side and cracked his neck menacingly to further illustrate this point.

Glowering venomously, and not taking his eyes off Errorgone (Who had crawled over to one of Horst's tree-like legs and was sheltering there just in case the butcher snapped again), Sloan slipped into the back room. After an interlude of frenzied chopping, and muttered curses, Sloan returned. By this point his scowl had evolved into more of a snarl. Nostril's flaring, he slammed the sheep's head down on the counter with frankly unnecessary force, splattering small amounts of blood over everything in the room. Errorgone could have sworn he's heard the cracking of a cranial plate, although that could just as easily have been one of the butcher's neck tendons. He slowly accepted Horst's money, and then proceeded to sharpen his knife loudly, staring into space with murderous eyes. Horst scooped up the meat in one hand, picked up Errorgone by the scruff of his neck with the other, and walked outside.

The night air was crisp and refreshing.

Horst set Errorgone down gently.

"Thanks, Horst," Errorgone said, smiling as he wiped a bit of sheep's blood out of his eyebrow, "Uncle Garrow will be pleased".

Horst gave a hearty chuckle. "Don't you worry about that, it was my pleasure. Now, you'd better hurry back home, said uncle may be getting worried!"

Horst handed the sheep's head to Errorgone. It grinned grimly for under the boy's arm.

"Okay then. Sure you don't want this rock?"  
"Oh, that thing? Nahh, you keep it. I'm sure I have no need for such a thing."

"Okay then. See ya!"

Errorgone tucked the stone back into his incredibly fashionable hat and scampered off.

After a great deal of scampering (Errorgone's house was several miles from the rest of Carnival, much further than anyone else's. Some people considered this dangerous, and that it was incredibly obvious foreshadowing, but Garrow hadn't listened to them. After all, nothing bad EVER happened in Carnival!) Errorgone made it home, and let himself in.

"Hi, uncle!" He said.

"Oh, hello Errorgone," Garrow said, turning from the stove. He was making some delicious-smelling twig-and-grass soup.

"Look what I've got!" He held up the slimy sheep's head.

"Ooh, delicious! Set that on the counter here, I'm sure this will make some tasty meals!"

Errorgone did as he was told. "Also," errogone continued, "I have found this shiny thing" He held up the huge stone, it's surface shimmered in the candlelight like the wings of an_ Opal Morpho_.

Garrow glanced at it briefly, before getting back to his cooking. "Hmm. D'you want some soup?"

"Nah. Actually I think I'll go to bed now. G'night."

Errorgone yawned loudly, and shuffled away into his bedroom. When he got there, he fell in one swift geometric movement onto the mattress (well, it was more of a pile of hay, but it was comfortable enough). He was soon fast asleep, and that was where the chapter ended abruptly.


End file.
